The Liebenwonks
by Gail Lucinda Autor
Summary: Written in response to lostandalone12's fic challenge! Luna Lovegood has diagnosed Draco as having been invaded by a creature called a Liebenwonk, after taking a dare from Blaise to kiss you-can-guess who...rated T for language and a snogging scene :D


**Author's note: Okay, my first HP fic! I love Dramoine (I think they're the cutest ship ever) and when I saw lostandalone12's challenge, I decided to respond to it. I don't own Harry Potter, never have, never will. R&R, please!**

A quick touch of the lips; a quick pressure between bodies; and then it was over, leaving Hermoine Granger pressed up against a bookshelf, papers fluttering from her arms, wondering if what she thought had just happened really had.

A fast, stiff kiss; an odd, uncomfortable connection of figures; and then it was over, with Draco Malfoy rushing down the corridor, feeling disgusted with himself for multiple reasons, not the least of which was taking Blaise up on a childish dare.

And speaking of Blaise...

The dark-skinned Slytherin caught up with him quickly, grinning from ear to ear. "Bloody brilliant, man. Bloody brilliant," he congratulated Draco.

"Shut up and get away from me," the latter spat. "That was the most disgusting, unnatural, least-satisfying kiss I have ever had in my entire life."

"Oh, don't be like this," Blaise said cheerfully. "It was just a dare. It's not as if there was anything _real _there, Draco," he added with a suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows that made the man who was arguably his best friend want to _Sectumsempra _them right off of his face.

"Just because _you're _falling for some effing blood-traitor Gryffindor doesn't mean I've got to go make out with Granger just to make you feel better," the blond growled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand contemptuously. He could still _taste _her filthy skin, he realized, spitting on the ground.

"It's your own fault for using tongue," Blaise pointed out as he watched his friend rather dramatically attempt to rid his mouth of some alleged trace of flavor.

"I did not use tongue," Draco responded indignantly, straightening up and stopping his idiotic retching.

"Then explain why you're spitting on the ground."

"Because it was bloody disgusting, that's why!" he practically roared, his normally alabaster complexion turning an amusing tomato shade.

"Looks as if you used a bit too much rouge this morning," Blaise remarked with comical sympathy.

"Shut up!" Draco shouted. "What kind of friend are you?"

He turned and marched down the corridor. Blaise stayed where he was, shaking his head slowly.

"One who cares about you, dumbass," he muttered under his breath, watching Draco's retreating back with concern.

Draco couldn't remember ever being this furious. He wasn't even sure who he was the most furious _with_: himself or Blaise. For a moment he considered being angry at Granger, but whatever fragment of conscience that lived within him had somehow managed to talk him out of it. She wasn't the one who'd tried to snog him. She wasn't the one who'd taken Blaise's stupid dare.

What an idiot he was.

He groaned and banged his head against the wall of the corridor. God, that was just awful. Disgusting. Gross. He suspected that Blaise had suspected there would be a spark when his lips met the Muggle-born's.

Shit. He _hated _when Blaise's stupid suspicions were right.

"Oh, hello, Draco," came a soft, floaty voice. An unmistakably blonde voice.

He whirled to face one of his worst nightmares: Loony Lovegood.

The oddity was looking at him, head tipped slightly to the side, appearing mildly concerned.

"What's the matter?" she inquired breezily.

_You,_ he considered answering. Instead he just said "Uh..." and stared at her blankly.

An idiot to end all idiots.

She studied him, her airy blonde hair appearing to float round her shoulders, despite the distinct lack of breeze in the corridor. After a moment she spoke.

"I know what the problem is," she decided, tapping his nose lightly with a fingertip. "Open your mouth."

Praying it would make her go away, he did.

"Yes, it's just as I thought," Luna declared gravely after staring at his lips and tongue for some time. "You've been attacked by a Liebenwonk."

"A what?" Draco asked before he could stop himself. He cursed his stupidity silently as she replied.

"A Liebenwonk, silly. Surely you've heard of them? They enter through your mouth and generally make you crazy. They addle your brains. There's no known cure!" she informed him as if this were the most wonderful thing in the world. "Although, in your case it ought to be a good thing," she added thoughtfully. "I've got to go now, Draco. Enjoy your Liebenwonk!" she called out cheerfully over her shoulder as she skipped down the corridor.

"Damn," Draco muttered under his breath as he watched her go.

Hermoine, after several moments standing paralyzed against her bookshelf, set about collecting the papers that the idiot had scattered when he'd snogged her. She was shaking as she shuffled them into neat order and tucked them into her bookbag, walking from the library as if in a trance.

She'd just been kissed by _Malfoy._

Dear God.

Surely it wasn't him. Surely there were other blond, sharp-nosed, cocky Slytherin SOBs running around the school. She told herself this over and over as she walked aimlessly down the corridor, shoulders hunched, head down, deep in a rather desperate state of denial. Which is why she collided with the very boy she'd been trying to convince herself had _not _just shoved her up against the bookshelf and kissed her full on the mouth.

"Watch it, Granger," he hissed, grabbing her wrists and pushing her away. Evidently he'd shoved her harder than he'd meant to, because she tumbled into the very wall he'd just been banging his head against with a loud smack. Papers-the very _same _papers she'd just collected, she thought bitterly-flew everywhere, like feathers in a punctured down pillowcase. She clutched the back of her head, feeling a goose egg beginning to swell up. Blinking back tears, she slid her back down the wall and sat with an _oof _on the floor.

Hermoine had expected him to walk away, laughing, with a new story to tell about the endless harassment of the members of the so-called Golden Trio. So she was surprised when he knelt beside her, a sheaf of papers, neatly stacked, in his hand.

"Granger," he whispered urgently. "Are you alright?"

She managed to nod around her shock. She almost passed out when he grabbed her hand and, albeit slightly less than gently, pulled her to her feet. He held on a moment too long, she noted. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

He seemed to realize this and let go quickly, but did not wipe his hand on his robes as they both half-expected him to. "Do you...do you need to go see Madam Pomphrey?" he got out after a moment of awkward silence.

She shook her head. "No...no, I'm-I'm fine," she stammered.

"Back to your dorm, then," he said. "It's getting late. People...people could get the wrong idea..."

This could not be the man who had just kissed her. She opened her mouth as if to speak, changed her mind, and raced off for Gryffindor Tower without another word to him.

Draco tossed and turned in his four-poster that night, alternately thinking Blaise was every horrible name he could think up and reliving the kiss with Granger. It had been stiff and awkward for half of its two-second time. The other second had felt...strange. Her body had pressed into his, curves and contours fitting almost like puzzle pieces, and her lips had seemed to reach for his as he pulled away.

Damn Blaise. Damn him to hell. There _was _a spark.

It wasn't even a real kiss, he reminded himself. If it had been a real kiss, if it had lasted longer, he would've realized that there was nothing there. It wasn't as if he'd made out with her; he'd just given her a quick peck. If he made out with her, he might realize that there wasn't anything to freak over. There was a spark, yes, but hell, sparks were common. Sparks meant mild attraction. Surely there wasn't that same roaring bonfire of lust and love and need he'd felt only once before.

This satisfied both contrary pieces of his contrary mind. The only way to find out the truth in life is to experiment, after all. So he would experiment, and he would prove Blaise wrong. Or rather, right.

After all, Blaise _had _said that there was nothing real in that kiss.

Hermoine hadn't exactly slept well, either.

She'd tossed, turned, read, practically tied her sheets in knots, and generally been so restless that at last Parvati Patil had shouted at her to stop thrashing about and go to sleep. It hadn't exactly helped, but she'd quieted herself. There were no more complaints, besides the complaint of her aching, sleep-deprived body and brain when she rose the next morning.

It was Saturday. Hermoine did not want to return to the library after what had happened yesterday. Therefore, as it was a pleasant day out of doors, she decided to go sit beside the lake to work on homework. She'd take a few pieces of toast and jam and have a lovely, peaceful little time eating breakfast and studying. This plan cheered her up greatly and she practically skipped out of the common room.

At last she was settled happily beneath a tree on the shore of the lake, a stack of toast smeared with various confections on one side, a stack of books and papers on the other. She sighed contentedly and reached for her Spellman's Syllabary.

"Good morning," said a familiar voice, startling her so much that she jumped and upset the large stack of books. With a sigh Draco Malfoy crouched beside her.

"It seems I am forever picking up after you, Granger," he commented, restacking the books off to one side as he sat down next to her. She noted dark circles beneath his grey eyes, but they were not nearly as pronounced as hers.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked. She had intended to sound hostile, but it came out as more of a squeak.

He sighed and ran a hand through his soft blond hair, sort of fluffing it up.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," he said slowly.

"It's okay," Hermoine managed to get out in a more normal tone of voice. He shrugged and moved a little closer.

"Are you sure?" he asked, widening his grey eyes in a rather unbecoming _Bambi _likeness that, for some reason, made her heartbeat quicken.

"I...yes, quite sure," she told him. He seemed to be inching slowly closer, like the minute hand of a clock; you didn't notice its moving until you looked away for a little while and then looked back.

"I just wanted to be sure you were alright," he continued slowly, seeming to consider each sincere word he spoke. "How's your head?"

"Fine," she squeaked. He was uncomfortably close now. If she took too deep a breath her chest would probably touch his. She cleared her throat and repeated, sounding a bit more normal, "Fine."

"Good," he all but whispered, and then his lips were on hers.

He knew instantly that this had been a terrible idea.

_Note to self: only experiment when UNDOUBTEDLY SURE of outcome._

He had mispredicted, miscalculated, mishypothesized, mis-everything; there was, in fact, more to it than just a spark.

Shit. Blaise _had _been right. It occurred to him, briefly, that he should probably stop snogging her, now that he had his answer. It also occurred to him, less briefly, that stopping was impossible. He turned so that he could pin her body up against the tree trunk with his.

God, it felt incredible. Why hadn't he done this _sooner?_

At last she pulled away, gasping for breath. He, however, was having difficulty stopping. Who needed air? He had an effing _beautiful _girl to kiss. His lips traced her jawline, moving down her neck, planting kisses all along her perfect collarbone.

Her voice snapped him out of it.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she demanded breathlessly. "Malfoy...Malfoy, stop it, stop it!" she pleaded.

"Stop what?" he mumbled around the soft patch of skin on the underside of her chin.

"Malfoy, _get off. Now!" _He jerked back, quite literally tearing himself away, and looked her in the eye.

Something in those silver irises, usually so cold, now so full of fire, frightened Hermoine. It attracted her, too, though, and it was all she could do to ask, "Why the hell are you doing this?"

He shrugged an answer, doing his best to keep his eyes from hungrily sweeping her figure. It both disgusted her and made her want to beg him to kiss her like that again. God, he was _gorgeous. _Why hadn't she noticed it before?

She tried again. "What's gotten into you?" she whispered. She could feel her resolve to keep him at a distance dissolving steadily with each passing second.

Evidently he sensed this. "One of those damn Liebenwonks," he answered, and kissed her again.

The two were so lost in each other that they didn't even hear Blaise cackling a short way down the shore as he watched them, then ducked behind his own tree to kiss a certain red-headed Gryffindor.


End file.
